Star-Spangled Rejects

by J. T. Livingston

  Doug was behind the counter and poured four cups of black coffee. “God did not allow this to happen, Cheryl.” His voice was low and soothing.

  Cheryl looked up at him and smiled. “I know that, really I do, but…it’s just so unfair that this has happened to my Jimmy. I mean, where is he? Is he hurt? Did someone take him—which is what I’m inclined to believe. I think the police have finally come around to that way of thinking, too.” She took a long sip of coffee. “They began interviewing a lot of the students at his school today—they got through with all of those in his class, but they said they didn’t get any good leads from any of them.”

  “He didn’t have any other friends?” Bertie asked. “If memory serves me, that first morning the two of you came in here, didn’t he have to go outside to take a call from a friend?’

  Cheryl’s brows raised in surprise. “Wow, Bertie! You remember that little detail, do you?”

  “I have a memory like an elephant,” Bertie nodded. “It’s a gift. Isn’t that right, handsome?” She reached across the counter and punched Doug on the shoulder.

  Doug rubbed his arm and grinned. “It’s true. Our Bertie never forgets a face, a name, or a place; and, it’s obvious that she must never forget a phone call either.” He moved away quickly when Bertie moved to punch him again.

  Cheryl smiled and sipped at her coffee. She was quiet for a moment before looking back up at her friends. “I had almost forgotten about that group of older boys he hung out with for a few months—he stopped seeing them—oh, I can’t remember when, but it hasn’t been that long ago. For the life of me, I can’t remember any of their names now.”

  “They were older?” Jason asked. “Did they go to Jimmy’s school?”

  “Yes, to both questions,” Cheryl answered back. “What was that boy’s name? I remember I only met him one time, and there was something about him that—well, that probably isn’t important…anyway, I’ll be sure to mention it to Officer O’Brady—to make sure they talk to some of the older students. Maybe someone will remember seeing Jimmy with those friends he hung out with, and know who they are.”

  Doug wanted to say something, but one look at Bertie, and he was silently reminded that it was not their place to interfere with anything that might transpire. “Maybe you’ll think of the name later,” he suggested. He grunted when Bertie punched him on her way into the kitchen.

  “I’ll be back with some food for you both,” she yelled over her shoulder. She looked at Max when she got inside the kitchen. “Did you hear that? Our handsome angel almost interfered, didn’t he? Now, if that had been me, I probably would have already heard about it from Martin, or someone in even higher authority.”

  “Calm down, Bertie,” Max smiled as he began filling two plates with the dinner special: 15-bean soup, seasoned with ham hocks, onions, and smoked sausage, piled atop rice, and accompanied by pole beans and his famous baked macaroni and cheese with four cheeses and bacon. It was a stick-to-your-ribs kind of dinner that was sure to get anyone through the cold night ahead. “Doug could have provided the boy’s name, but he knew better.”

  “Do you think that boy could have anything to do with Jimmy’s disappearance, Max? Or is that something else you’re not allowed to share with us about these whole shenanigans?” Bertie pouted a little.

  Max pushed the plates toward her. “Those folks are tired and hungry, Bertie. Go feed them so that they’ll have the strength to endure whatever may come.”

  CHAPTER 31

  One Man Alone

  Cheryl and Jason did not leave the café until almost ten o’clock.

  Bertie watched the door close behind the tired couple and looked over at Doug. “That poor girl is absolutely exhausted. I hope she’s able to get some sleep tonight.”

  Doug removed some plates from the counter and shook his head. “I don’t think she’ll have another sound night’s sleep until her son is home again.” He took the dishes into the kitchen and nodded at Max. “There’s no one else out there, Max. It’s been a slow night.”

  “Yes, it has,” Max smiled. “It’s another cold night. Most people probably decided it wasn’t worth the effort to get out in this cold—not even to sample my 15-bean soup. It really is good; have you tried it? Or—maybe you know of someone else who could use a bowl of hot soup to get them through the night?”

  “You sensed him, too, didn’t you?” Doug stared into the dining room, through the large glass windows, and into the dark night that caressed the old camp site across the street. “Skipper?”

  “I did,” Max nodded and reached for a quart-sized, TO GO, container. “He’s been over there for a few hours now.” He filled the bottom of the container with rice, followed by heaping ladles of the steaming bean soup.

  “They were supposed to release him before five o’clock today,” Doug said. “I offered to pick him up and take him wherever he needed to go, but he refused. He said he had a ride, but I’m wondering if he didn’t end up walking the entire way from the hospital.”

  “Yes, you weren’t the only one who offered to give him a ride.” Max put a lid on the container and reached for two smaller ones for the pole beans and macaroni and cheese. “Officer O’Brady visited him at the hospital—brought his personal belongings, from the jail.”

  Doug shook his head. “I’ve never met a more stubborn human being than Skipper. I wonder if he’s ever allowed anyone to help him.”

  “I can answer that,” Max sighed. “No, he hasn’t. He hasn’t felt like he belonged anywhere or to anyone his entire life.”

  “That is so sad,” Doug rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I’ll bag the food up and walk over there. Maybe he’ll feel like talking tonight.”

  Max released a small laugh. “I have no doubt he’ll accept the food, but I wouldn’t get my hopes up for any deep or lengthy conversation with Gordon Whiting.”

  Jimmy had watched Michael all night—smoking one joint after another, drinking one beer after another. It was a little past midnight and the lake house was eerily quiet, but the sounds of nature outside were in full orchestra. He had lived in Georgia—mostly rural areas—his entire life and he recognized the sounds in the woods outside the glass doors to be a mixture of cave crickets, katydids, catbirds, white-tail deer, and bobcats.

  The old woman had retreated to the bedroom an hour earlier after searching the cabinet and refrigerator for some real food. She had to settle for a jar of peanut butter and saltines. Since they had no access to silverware, Jimmy assumed she would use her fingers to spread the peanut butter on the crackers. She had glanced down at Mike, who was passed out in one of the huge recliners, and whispered to Jimmy as she shuffled past him, “You should kill him in his sleep.”

  Jimmy waited until the old woman had closed the bedroom door. “Psst…hey, Mike…are you awake?” Jimmy whispered loudly from his spot across the room. The low flames from the fire place provided the only light in the large game room. He stood up slowly and carefully, and the sight of his looming shadow scared him back to a sitting position. “Geez,” he gasped. “That must be what it means to be afraid of your own shadow.” He waited a few moments and stood back up. He held his chain up high so that it didn’t drag against the wood floor, and took tiny, quiet steps toward the recliner.

  Jimmy stopped when he reached the recliner, and looked around the room for anything he might be able to use as a weapon. He didn’t want to hurt anyone, but then again, he didn’t want to die either. He was so worried about his mom and what she might be going through—missing him and frightened about what could have happened to him. He had to get back to her.

  Jimmy had watched Kirk, on Friday, as he thoroughly cleared the basement rooms of any objects that could be used as a weapon. He knew that all sharp items had been placed in the kitchen pantry, and secured with a padlock—a padlock very similar to the one that secured the chain to Jimmy’s and the old woman’s ankles. He knew that his three former friends all had their own keys to those padlocks.

&nbs
p; Where were Mike’s keys?

  Jimmy backed slowly away from the recliner and inched his way into the kitchen. He didn’t see the keys anywhere. It was possible that Mike had placed them in his pants pocket, but Jimmy had been watching when Mike arrived earlier, and he didn’t remember seeing him with his keys. “Well, I’m no Dick Tracy,” Jimmy spoke out loud. “But, that could mean that he left the keys in his car, or in his coat pocket—maybe.” He took a deep breath and moved over to the wall hooks that currently held only two jackets—his own and Mike’s.

  “Please be in there,” he prayed silently. He really didn’t expect to feel anything when he searched the first pocket—and, he didn’t. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and offered another quick, silent prayer before sticking his hands into the second pocket. His fingers felt the cool ridges of several keys on a large keyring. Jimmy opened his eyes and willed himself to breathe—just breathe. He shook his head and pulled his top lip down with his teeth. “Thank you, God…”

  A loud snore from across the room startled Jimmy so much that he immediately dropped the keys onto the stone hearth. He thought the clattering sound was surely loud enough to wake the dead—and most certainly—Mike. He was wrong. Mike was so strung out on pot and booze that he was in a deep, drug-and-alcohol induced sleep. Jimmy froze and waited for what seemed like an eternity before he had the nerve to turn around and glance back at Mike—to assure himself that the sound of the keys had not awakened him. He leaned over slowly and retrieved the keys. He moved them, one by one, slowly around the key ring, and finally found one small enough that it had to be the one that would unlock the padlock.

  He sat down on the hearth, inserted the key into the padlock at his ankle, held his breath, and turned the key slowly. He thought the sound of the click releasing the lock would surely wake Mike, but the loud sound he was certain it made had only been in his head. He blew out three quick breaths when he released the chain from around his ankle. He looked around for his shoes, but David had locked them away when he discovered the old woman’s missing shoe. It had taken a while, but David eventually convinced himself that the missing shoe had to still be in the trunk of Kirk’s car—something he intended to verify when he saw Kirk.

  Jimmy peered at the set of keys and quickly identified the key to Jimmy’s Toyota Tundra pick-up truck. “Who needs shoes, anyway?” he asked himself as he moved toward the sliding glass doors. “Well, look at that,” another sigh escaped him. “Mike left the door unlocked…”

  The loud clank of chain against floor echoed throughout the room when Stella shuffled back into the room. “What the hell are you doing?” she barked.

  Mike snorted loudly in his sleep and he turned on his side, but he didn’t wake up.

  Jimmy closed his eyes and pursed his lips together. He brought his finger to his lips to silence the old woman, but doubted she could see that small gesture from across the darkened room. He moved quickly to where Stella stood outside the bedroom door and grabbed her shoulder. “Hush! I found the key. Come on, let’s get out of here!” He bent down to unlock the padlock at the old woman’s ankle.

  Stella held onto the boy’s shoulder to steady herself. She had resigned herself that she would, most likely, die in this place, and she was quickly taken aback at the prospect for escape. “Okay, okay—but, hurry! He could wake up at any time.”

  “He’s totally drunk—passed out cold,” Jimmy said as the lock fell away from Stella’s swollen ankle.

  “Take it from someone who knows, kid—he could wake up at any time—nobody is ever that drunk.” She moved away from Jimmy and made her way to the sliding door. She slid it open and shivered. “We’re gonna freeze our asses off out there.”

  Jimmy moved quickly to her side and glanced down at their shoeless feet. He dangled the key ring in front of her and glanced back at Mike, who was still oblivious to what was happening while he slept. “Lucky for us—we have the key to his truck, too. Come on…” He grabbed his light jacket off the hook, and handed Mike’s to Stella.

  Once outside, Stella rushed quickly to the pick-up truck and hopped into the front passenger seat. Jimmy put the vehicle in neutral, and pushed it a hundred feet away from the lake house before he hopped in, put it in gear, and drove away slowly, headlights off.

  “I gotta hand it to you, kid,” Stella said between coughing fits. “You surprised me—and there ain’t much out there that surprises old Stella anymore.” She coughed again and stared ahead at the long, gravel drive-way. “You do know how to drive, don’t you?”

  Jimmy grinned and stared into the darkness ahead of them. “Yes ma’am, I do—my mom taught me.” He slowed when they reached the huge, iron gate. “I forgot about the gate; it needs a key, too—I saw Kirk unlock it when we first got here.” He could only hope that the padlock key would open the gate, also. He cut the engine off, removed the key ring, and rushed to the front gate. The lights from the truck allowed him to quickly find the padlock key. He inserted it and, once again, uttered another quick, silent prayer.

  The key fit.

  Jimmy laughed out loud and pumped his fist into the night air. He pushed the gate open and hopped back into the truck. “It worked!” he grinned at the old woman across the seat from him. “It really worked!”

  He started the truck back up and put it in gear. They cleared the gate and Jimmy wasn’t the least bit concerned about shutting it behind them. “We’re out of here…” he sighed.

  The oncoming headlights blinded him and he shook his head in denial when the old woman began screaming. The single-lane road that lead to the lake house drive-way was surrounded on both sides by tall pines and massive shrubs; both cars would never fit on that narrow road—there was nowhere for Jimmy to pull off—to go around the black Land Cruiser that blocked their path.

  ⟡

  Doug flipped over the CLOSED sign as he walked out the café’s front door, carrying two large sacks of food and coffee for Skipper. He was going to do his best to talk Skipper into coming back and sharing the upstairs bedroom with Bernard. The temperature was supposed to drop below freezing again tonight, and he couldn’t bear the thought of Skipper sleeping on the cold, frozen ground—especially with the infection in his hand still at risk.

  He walked quickly across the street, through the bushes, and into the campground. There was a small fire burning, and Doug sighed with relief when he saw Skipper sitting close to the fire, leaning over it for warmth. His back was to Doug, and his backpack pressed against his lower back—Doug assumed it was for support.

  Doug saw the collapsed boxes that used to be home for Norman, Joe, and Bernard. The winds had destroyed the makeshift tents. The site looked exactly like what it was—deserted, except for one man alone—Skipper.

  Doug cleared his throat and walked closer. “Hi, Skipper. I thought you might be hungry. Max made some soup that you’re going to love, but it’s bean soup, so it’s probably a good thing that you’re here by yourself tonight…” It was apparent to him that his feeble attempt at humor was not having any impact on the lone Veteran. “Skipper?”

  Doug cleared his throat again when he reached Skipper’s side, and sat the bags down beside him. “It’s really cold out tonight, Skipper. I was hoping I might talk you into coming back to the café with me. You can share the room with Bernard. Jason is staying with Cheryl, and Joe went home—he’s so excited about becoming a grandfather. Did you know about that, Skipper?” Doug had never expected any lengthy conversation from Skipper, but he thought his words might at least generate a grunt, at the very least.

  Something was wrong. Skipper should have said something to him by now, or at least acknowledged him. It was mere seconds before he was convinced that something really was wrong—very wrong. “Skipper?”

  Neither he nor Max had picked up on anything like he now suspected.

  He walked slowly and stopped in front of Skipper, who sat cross-legged, elbows on his upper legs, hands clasped and propped under his chin. His head and shoulders were
bent forward. Doug kneeled down slowly and laid his hand upon the old Veteran’s shoulder. “Skipper?”

  Skipper’s notebook of poems dropped from his lap and Skipper fell over on his side, onto the cold ground.

  The slightly bluish tint of his lips should have been more than enough to convince the angel that the homeless Veteran who had served his country so well, and so hard, had finally gone home. “Oh, no…Skipper,” Doug bowed his head in prayer He raised his head when he heard the angel chimes sound from across the street.

  Bertie and Max held each other and looked upward into a night filled with total darkness, except for one lone star, directly above them.

  “Welcome home, Skipper,” Max choked. “Welcome home…”

  CHAPTER 32

  No Chance for Escape

  Dottie O’Brady climbed out of bed and put her robe on. She checked on the twins before she made her way down the dark hallway that led to the downstairs. The light coming from the study convinced her that she had been right—her husband had waited until she fell asleep before getting out of bed and going back to work. She stood in the doorway to the study and crossed her arms. “Thomas O’Brady, you promised you would wait until tomorrow to sort through your notes.”

  Thomas made an attempt to look chagrined. “Sorry, love, but something kept nagging at me about Stella Seiber.”

  Dottie flopped down into the small, well-worn recliner and lifted the latch to prop her feet up. “The old woman, right? The one you went looking for at that nasty bar at the end of town?”

  “That’s the one,” Thomas grinned. “I told you I found a shoe on the road that led back into town. I can’t prove that it’s Stella’s, but something kept nagging at me, so I went back to the Pickled Possum before I came home tonight. I wanted to interview a few other customers—ones that might not have been there early in the morning when I talked to the bartender.” He shuffled through his notes until he found what he had been searching for. “Here it is!”